


Frame of Reference

by saltandbyrne



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Awesome Sam, Bottom Dean, Comeplay, Crossdressing, Dirty Talk, Felching, Food Sex, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, Love Confessions, M/M, Misunderstandings, Nipple Clamps, Overstimulation, Panty Kink, Schmoop, Sex Toys, Vibrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-15
Updated: 2013-05-15
Packaged: 2017-12-11 23:25:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/804450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltandbyrne/pseuds/saltandbyrne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The world is ending, the devil is hot on their trail, and Dean Winchester is in love.  Written for <a href="http://dchappyendings.livejournal.com/">dchappyendings</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Frame of Reference

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my darling fobsessed54 for the beta read!

 There's a certain point a body can reach where the senses start to play tricks. A soft kiss can bring a man to tears, and a well-placed flick of thumb and forefinger can hurtle him over the barrier into senseless bliss.

 

Castiel had passed that point about two hours ago.

 

Dean's stomach sticks tacky-wet to Castiel's, each grind of his hips slip-sliding them together. The soaked mess of Cas' panties catches against the short curls at Dean's crotch, tugging and making Dean's skin prickle. It feels good.

 

Cas' eyes glisten wide and blue, tear tracks painted over the flush of his face. The muscles at his jaw bunch and jump as Dean ruts against him, but Cas doesn't make a sound.

 

Dean hums, just loud enough to see the whites of Cas' eyes as his eyelashes flutter for him. Cas is always beautiful, but he's perfect like this, dazed and fearless as he comes undone for Dean. Just for Dean.

 

Dean's cock throbs as he watches the play of Cas' muscles, the little tick in his jaw, the tremble of his lips as Dean bears his weight down against him. People could write songs about those lips, pink and plush against the black lace bunched between them. Dean likes wearing panties, too, but his look so much better stuffed into Cas' sweet mouth.

 

Cas' breath runs warm through the fabric as Dean leans down to kiss him. The bed dips slightly as Dean rests his elbow beside Cas' pink cheek, rolling his weight to one side as he strokes up the extended arch of Cas' arm. Long, delicate fingers twist around the simple knot of Dean's belt against the slatted headboard. Dean loves when they get rooms like this, not that he doesn't have a million other ways to restrain Cas when they don't have the luxury of a fancy bed.

 

Dean draws his hand back down, dragging the blunt edge of his fingernails to catch against Cas' skin. The blood-flushed trails add to the web of scratches and kissed-red bruises that mark Cas all over. Cas' skin is usually cool but he heats up like a furnace when they do this, until his face is red and his eyes are shining with an ocean of satisfied tears.

 

The metal feels warm against Dean's fingers, flushed to Cas' body temperature by the heat of his skin. He traces over the delicate chain link by link, letting his fingernail catch on each juncture as Cas arches under him. Cas' stomach tenses with each barely-audible clink of metal, too soft to put any pressure on the tiny clamps pinching his nipples but too clear a message not to make him twitchy. Dean smiles, wickedly he's sure, and brings his forefinger to the hot-red nub of Cas' left nipple.

 

He scratches over the swollen flesh until Cas' eyes roll back in his head. His teeth clench into the fabric in his mouth in an effort to keep silent.

 

Dean chuckles softly and runs his finger back down the chain, stopping in the middle to press his finger into the hollow between Cas' pecs. He drags it down slowly, pulling the little chain along until it starts to stretch taut. Cas arches up to follow it, his head dipping back against the pillows and laying his throat bare and beautiful.

 

Bringing his leg up to snug against the come-matted fabric stretched over Cas' spent dick, Dean presses down against the arch of his hips to keep Cas in place. He snakes his finger around the thin silver, catching it over his knuckle to twist and pull harder. He can feel the sharp jerk of Cas' hips as he lets out a small sound.

 

Cas has come so many times he'd have passed out if he were human. His dick still gives a valiant, thickening twitch as Dean grinds his leg against it. He can almost feel the little buzz emanating from the toy buried deep inside of Cas as he bears his thigh down and lets the chain go.

 

Cas' breathing is muffled and wet through the makeshift gag in his mouth, his nostrils flaring wide as a new set of tears runs down his face. None of this has to hurt, of course. Cas could turn his mojo back on any time he feels like it, but he never, ever does.

 

Dean strokes his hand down, petting Cas' stomach and running his fingers through the crackling, filthy mess stuck to his skin. Cas could also clean himself up in a heartbeat if he wanted to, but he never does that, either. He'd come dry the last time, groaning empty into the heat of Dean's mouth as he sucked at the salt-brine remnants of the first three.

 

One more will make it five, and Dean thinks five is a nice number; fingers, toes, and the spent little angel heaving beneath him. God, choosing it, even, all that power laid aside so he could squirm like a shucked and helpless thing as Dean turns him inside out. Just one more time.

 

Cas knows, by now, that it's the absence of the pressure that makes the little alligator clips on his nipples hurt so much. The first bite is painful, but it's nothing on the rush of blood and sensation when they're pinched open and let loose. Cas' body goes slack with anticipation as Dean delicately pinches the spring-hinged ends between his fingers, licking his lips and rolling his hips to jut his own aching hard-on against Cas' hip. Dean hasn't come once, although that won't last for much longer.

 

Dean knows that Cas' true voice would shatter his eardrums and rain glass on everyone within a mile-wide radius, but it's hard to believe that the scream he lets out when Dean pulls off the clamps has any restraint in it. It's hoarse and jagged, all broken glass and falling grace as every muscle in Cas' body goes tense.

 

Dean can hear it, now, the relentless hum of the sound-activated vibrator Dean had purchased from a delighted-looking sex toy shopkeep in Racine. Cas screams again, rutting up against the firm barrier of Dean's thigh. Dean isn't even sure if Cas is coming or if he's just lost. His mouth hangs open as he thrashes against the pillows, the tendons of his neck straining out like ropes as he growls.

 

Dean hitches his leg up until he hits the right angle, slotting his dick into the sweat-damp channel of Cas' hip. Dean rocks against him, grinding himself against the taut writhe of Cas' body as his thumb seeks out the cracked, hot curve of Cas' lips. Slack-jawed and one good moment of friction away from coming, Dean noses into the wet-earth scent of Cas' chest to breathe him in. He mouths blindly at the soft slopes of skin before him and closes his mouth over the abused point of Cas' nipple as he comes, pulsing hot and sucking hard as Cas screams it out for him.

 

Dean manages to switch off the vibrator with shaking hands, not even bothering to take it out before he wraps his arms around Cas and starts kissing him. He plucks the panties out of Cas' mouth with his teeth, spitting them aside so he can swallow every sound Cas makes. After a few false starts he manages to unloop his belt from Cas' hands, massaging his wrists as he kisses over the livid marks on Cas' neck.

 

He'll wake up with cotton-mouth and the uncomfortable sensation of being stuck to Cas' skin, but nothing on earth could keep Dean from drifting off to sleep as Cas turns on his side and snuggles up against him.

 

*

 

The world is ending, the devil is hot on their trail, and Dean Winchester is in love.

 

It's not like he'd said it yet, but even to Dean himself, it is blazingly obvious that he is head-over-heels, put-a-ring-on-it in love. If Cas were anyone else Dean would suspect witchcraft or some high-level gris-gris. Nothing should feel this good without a steep price, and based on Dean's history with contentment he would normally be waiting for someone to come for his organs at this point.

 

But this is Cas, with his perpetual bed-head and complete disregard for personal space. Dean doesn't trust angels but he trusts Cas implicitly, in a way he's never felt before. Sam has always had his back, but Cas has his heart. Dean had seen the future without his brother or the Cas he knows, and the only thing keeping the yawning pit of anxiety in his stomach from consuming him is the knowledge that he will die before he lets that come to pass.

 

It's not like they're ahead of the game today, but at least the Sam sitting across from him at the diner table is just regular-Sam, who would never in a million years wear a white tux because only black magic could keep that thing clean in the wake of Sam's awkward sasquatch-mitts. As if on cue, Sam plops his Lipton bag into the hot water a little too quickly and spills tea everywhere. Dean rolls his eyes and tosses his napkin at the mess.

 

“Thanks, man.” Sam sighs and mops up the tannic water, mingling with the lemon slice Sam always puts in his tea just to highlight how very not-coffee it is. The smell of citrus hits Dean's nose and makes him smile.

 

Cas had shown up a few weeks ago with his usual flair, materializing on Dean's bed with a smile and an entire lemon meringue pie. While that alone had been enough to put Dean in a good mood, he'd almost passed out when Cas had snapped their clothes off (which, really, that never got old) and smeared a two-finger scoop of filling onto his nipples with the boundless enthusiasm Cas seemed to possess for every single sexual act on earth. Cas always kissed like it was his last time, and he covered his dick with whipped cream with the same intense concentration.

 

“Hey, space case.” Sam tilts his head and catches Dean's eye, smirking as Dean blinks back to focus. “Want to share with the class?”

 

Dean opens his mouth to say something crude but changes his mind, sipping his coffee serenely. “Nah, just thinking about pie.”

 

Sam narrows his eyes and shakes his head. “Uh-huh, sure.” He leans in and takes a bite of his rabbit food. “Angel cream pie?”

 

Dean narrowly avoids adding to the caffeinated-beverage spill on the table as he hastily gulps down his drink.

 

“Ugh, Sam, not cool!” Dean shoots Sam a scandalized look, because seriously, Sam is not allowed to make jokes like that. And it is entirely not Dean's fault that he's vividly picturing Cas bent over that desk in Missouri, legs spread wide as he worked his own fingers into the wet mess of his-

 

“Oh what, you're the only one who can make dirty jokes?” Sam rolls his eyes. “And you left yourself wide open for that one.”

 

Dean grumbles and concedes the point. He'd taught the kid well.

 

“Look, seriously, Dean, I'm just...” Sam takes a deep breath and Dean's girl-feelings meter dials up to 11. “I'm really, really happy for you. And for Cas. For both of you.” Sam puts his fork down and clasps his hands over the remnants of his tea. “I haven't seen you this happy in, like, forever. The way you two look at each other, it's just … it's really beautiful, you know?”

 

Dean mimes throwing up in his mouth just a little bit, fulfilling his legally-mandated big brother quotient for this conversation. Sam's right, of course, in that spectacularly estrogen-laced way of his. The stakes have never been higher for Dean, but he's never fallen asleep at night feeling so happy to have someone hogging the sheets. Dean smiles, because he'd actually called Cas a burrito the other night and then had to explain what a burrito is and Sam might be facing some competition in the chick-flick pageant pretty soon.

 

“Thanks, Sammy.” Dean smiles at his gigantic little sister. “For real, I'm glad that, you know, you're cool with it.” Dean shrugs, cutting off another chunk of his waffles with the side of his fork.

 

“With your interspecies gay love affair?” Sam nods matter-of-factly. “Yeah, I'm cool with it.”

 

“That is how people wake up without eyebrows, young man.” Dean points his fork menacingly before they both laugh. It's good to tease each other like this, like they're just brothers again.

 

“It just makes, you know, all this,” Sam says, suddenly serious as he spreads his hands, fingers splayed out to encompass angels and demons and heaven and all the bullshit they have to deal with, “it makes it a little easier, you know?”

 

Dean sets down the improvised-weapon fork. “Yeah.” He does know, and he doesn't like talking about it because it's the sort of thing that makes his chest feel tight and makes it harder to eat his waffles.

 

“I mean, if anything happens, you know with Lucifer or whatever, I'm...” Sam runs a hand through his hair, looking out the window before looking at Dean with the full force of his sad-caveman eyebrows. “I feel better knowing that you have someone looking out for you.”

 

“Hey, first of all, no one's wearing either of us to the prom, Sammy. So stop that shit.” Dean levels a stare at his brother and sighs. “But thanks, man. And look, if you're really desperate to rock some prom-wear, I'll make sure Cas picks you as a bridesmaid, ok?”

 

“I do look great in taffeta.” Sam pulls the blue-steel model face that only he thinks is funny. “But only if it has a giant bow over the ass. I have standards.”

 

Dean laughs and lays his hand over Sam's to give it a firm squeeze, marveling at how Sam can operate a fork before he feels a familiar rush of air beside him. Warmth spreads through his chest as he feels himself smile.

 

“Hey, Cas.” Dean says softly, but not before he sees Cas' gaze lingering over his and Sam's hands. Dean gives Sam a pat and picks up his fork again, spearing a syrup-laded stack of waffle. “Still got some waffle left, want some?”

 

Cas looks back and forth between them a few times with his patented blank expression before he relaxes. Dean hands him the fork and watches Cas take a bite, thinking that he'd rather be the one feeding Cas but even Dean isn't that cruel. He likes to torture Sam as much as the next responsible sibling but waffle-feeding is beyond the pale even for them. And then Dean wouldn't be able to resist kissing Cas and at that point Dean is not responsible for his PDA.

 

It doesn't keep Dean from sneaking a hand onto Cas' thigh under the table, squeezing along the slender muscle until Cas jumps a little. Dean must have grazed a hickey.

 

“God, I hope this bathroom is cleaner than the last one.” Sam crumples his napkin and places it on the table as Cas gives him a look. “Sorry, Cas,” Sam says sheepishly, ducking his shoulders as he unfolds himself from the booth. Neither Sam nor Dean had realized how often they invoked the Lord's name until Cas showed up.

 

When Sam is sufficiently far away, Dean gives Cas' leg another squeeze and leans in to whisper in his ear.

 

“Missed you.” Dean runs his hand a little further up, savoring the way Cas' blush spreads up from the staid collar of his shirt. “Got you something, too.”

 

“Oh?” Cas sits stock-still, staring at Dean's plate like it can hold him in place.

 

“Uh-huh.” Dean looks quickly at the booth next to theirs before sliding his hand to cup over Cas' crotch. “Remember that movie we watched, with the little schoolgirl outfits?”

 

“Yes.” Cas barely whispers it. Dean smiles as he feels Cas' dick start to come to attention beneath his hand. Cas' fingers grip the fork in his hand just hard enough to quell the trembling of his hand.

 

“I got you one.” Dean licks his lips and grinds his palm down. “Little skirt and everything, I was thinking later-”

 

“Dean,” Cas hisses, face beet-red now. “People might see.”

 

“See what?” Dean smirks, rocking his hand up and down. “See me with the hottest guy in here?”

 

“I have to go.” Dean almost falls as Cas disappears, his wrist twisting at an awkward angle as he slams into the booth seat.

 

“Ow.” Dean straightens himself up and rubs at his hand, frowning. Cas has always been a little iffy with the public affection, which Dean finds hilarious given his complete lack of inhibition behind closed doors. He also finds it difficult. He wants to wear Cas like a wide-eyed scarf most of the time, because a part of Dean firmly believes in his God-given right to shamelessly gloat. Who wouldn't want to show Cas off?

 

“That was quick.” Sam takes his seat and arches an eyebrow. “What did you do?”

 

Dean shrugs and digs into the remnants of his waffles. “I think you got your PMS on him,” Dean mumbles through a mouthful of waffle crumbs and sausage.

 

Sam snorts and eats another strip of grilled chicken. Dean pushes his plate away and cracks his neck, frowning as he wonders why Cas had split. Sam would probably say they should have a talk, but then Dean would have to stab him with his fork and that's always messy.

 

Instead Dean kicks Sam under the table and tells him they should get going.

 

*

 

“One more, Cas, come on.”

 

Dean digs his fingernails into the meat of Cas' thigh, rolling his hips as he steadies himself. His back arches into a full curve as he drives himself deeper onto Cas' cock, gritting his teeth and wondering how Cas can still feel so fucking big after two hours. The extra stretch makes his skin tingle, tight-hot and static sharp over the flexing ache of his muscles.

 

Cas' chest heaves beneath him, one arm flung over his head as he grips Dean's leg. His eyes are wide and barely focused, lips parted and licked wet. Dean's back arches just that much further to draw himself up before sinking back down, circling lazily just to hear the squelch of Cas' come oozing out of him. Cas makes this noise when he's all fucked out like this, a wheezing kind of breath like Dean's sucking it out of him and it might hurt a little bit. It would sound scary coming from someone else but from Cas it's just gorgeous.

 

It had taken Dean about 12 hours after the first time they'd fucked to put two and two together and make good use of Cas' healing abilities. Dean had never called it “the boner zap” to Cas' face, but he fondly thinks of it that way as Cas draws in a shaky breath and presses two of his fingers against Dean's stomach. The blue of his eyes whites out for a second as he circumvents the stupid evolutionary flaw preventing Dean and himself from having constant hard-ons.

 

“Fuck,” and it's Cas who groans it and fuck if that doesn't make Dean crazy, the way Cas has started to slip into Dean's bad habits like an old t-shirt. He only does it when they're alone and Dean loves Cas' goodness, his purity and his wide-eyed devotion to things Dean can't believe in, but he loves these secret, nasty bits even more.

 

“Yeah, that's it,” Dean pants, mouth quirking up at the sides as Cas nods silently. “Fuck me good, Cas, come on.” Dean's voice sounds exhausted even to him, shaky and uneven for all his cocksure cowgirl moves. His arms are tired with the honest labor of fucking like the world's about to end and it's a lot sometimes, the way Cas looks at him, the way nothing else matters when they're sweating and grinding together.

 

Cas surges up under him, overcome with new energy from God only knows where. His arm flies down to grasp Dean's other hip, holding tight to pull Dean down onto him as he snaps his hips up. Dean feels the breath knocked out of him with each one and he throws his head back to feel himself shudder. Their bodies slap together wetly, loud like an echo as they grunt in unison.

 

“Dean.” Cas still hasn't got the hang of saying much, even when they aren't in bed. Which is fine, really. Dean likes to talk dirty when he's jerking off by himself, and he likes it even more when he's got the spellbound audience of Cas flushing red every time Dean runs his mouth. But Cas still says a lot in his own fashion, namely the infinite number of ways he can wrap his mouth around the single syllable of Dean's name like it's a secret language between them.

 

“ _Dean_.” Cas' voice is raspy, hoarse with the effort of stage-whispering while Sam's bundled in the crappy excuse for a lobby with his headphones and a single-minded determination to ignore anything he might manage to hear until midnight. Pumpkin jokes aside, Dean wasn't about to kick Sam out all night in the asshole middle-of-nowhere booked-to-the-gills Bunyan Lodge Estates. And he'd tried to keep it quiet, which really earns him some kind of medal when Cas licks his palm and wraps it around the hot throb of Dean's cock.

 

“I want you to come,” Cas grates out, tugging hard and fast on Dean's oversensitive dick just the way he likes. Cas is loving, and he's kind, but he's not gentle in bed and he's the first partner Dean hasn't needed to provoke into fucking him the way he likes.

 

“Yeah?” Dean wraps his hand over Cas', squeezing harder as he bites his lip. Dean doesn't even know if Cas uses his powers to bring Dean off faster or if he just gets Dean wound up like a spring on his own. All he knows is that it works and he's riding close to the finish line before he knows it.

 

He can feel himself clamp down around Cas, ripple and pull a force of its own as he shoots his load onto Cas' tensed stomach. He's come so many times already it almost hurts, some vague protest of a body that knows it's getting away with too much.

 

Cas pulls him down roughly, curling his hands over the arch of Dean's shoulders to bring their mouths together. It's kissing in the most artless, sloppy sense, everything so hot and rubbed-raw it's hard to tell where their lips end. Stubble catches rough and drags their skin taut as Cas' mouth opens slack and soundless, breath pitched and thin as he digs his fingers into Dean's skin.

 

It's greedy, he knows, but Dean wishes he could keep Cas like this forever, spunk-soaked and bitten red all over, filthy and gorgeous and so alive. His eyes glow when he comes, tear-wet blue with a light that has nothing to do with heaven and everything to do with how he looks at Dean.

 

Dean swallows the whine Cas lets out, grinding himself down to get Cas deep inside him. Dean loves all of it, all the nasty shit they do together, but he loves this best, this ephemeral moment of connection where a man with less dignity would say their hearts are beating together. Dean just closes his eyes and breathes it in.

 

Dean stays curled up on Cas' chest like a seal on a hot rock until he feels Cas go soft and slip free. Dean makes a shameless pout and sighs.

 

“Alright, fine.” Dean nuzzles against Cas' neck, wrinkling his nose at the rasp of Cas' stubble against his skin. “You gonna clean me up or do I have to go shower like a mere mortal?”

 

“I believe we have a little more time.” Cas' smile is crooked and one of his eyebrows is arched up in a parody of Dean's own smirk, and it would look stupid on anyone else but christ it just makes Dean want to fuck him a million more times before the lights go out.

 

“Think we can go another round before Sam comes back?” Dean glances at the bedside clock. “Shit, we've only got, like, five minutes, Cas.”

 

Cas looks sideways, his face slightly distracted. It's the face of a normal person trying to remember something, but Dean recognizes it as Cas connecting with the totality of existence like he's recalling last week's grocery list.

 

“Sam is currently entranced by the sight of a newly-arrived college student and her infant Golden Retriever.” Cas looks back up at Dean, nodding to himself. “I would estimate that we have an extra ten minutes to ourselves.”

 

“Well, in that case youffff-” Dean loses his breath as Cas promptly flips him over, hiking Dean's hips up into the air as he face-plants into the sheets. It's not like Dean ever forgets that Cas is strong but that shit just doesn't get old. Dean lets himself get manhandled into place, resting on his elbows for leverage as Cas settles behind him.

 

“Cute, Cas, you stick Sam with a puppy so you can fuck me doggy-sty _holyfuckCas_ ,” Dean chokes out, one elbow sliding out from under him in surprise.

 

Cas' understanding of “teasing” has definitely gotten more subtle since the first time he'd ripped Dean's pants off and suggested they fornicate. No, really. _Fornicate_. Dean had always considered himself a good teacher and he'd gotten Cas to see that they didn't always have to have wall-slamming, frantic sex, that the slow burn could light them both up just as good. But when Cas really wants something, he goes from zero to sixty so fast it leaves Dean's head spinning.

 

Like now, when Cas seals his lips over the come-wrung mess of Dean's hole and sucks loud enough that Dean's pretty sure Sam, the Golden Retriever and half the population of the next county can hear it. His tongue works inside with long, hard strokes, curling at the tip to catch the salty remnants of himself. It makes Dean shiver a little, not just the wet-suck pressure but the abandon that Cas throws into it. Cas' attention washes over him and leaves Dean not wanting for more, but afraid that he'll never find the light inside himself bright enough to shine it back.

 

Kissing is usually the best way to manage any overwhelming emotion that Dean finds himself grappling with, so he drops his hips to the bed and rolls over quickly, squirming down until he's right underneath Cas. Dean has had dumber thoughts than “Cas looks like an angel” before, but it still makes him smile as he cups his hand over the stubble-dusted jut of Cas' jaw.

 

Well, a really _dirty_ angel, at least. Dean's thumb traces over a shiny stripe on Cas' chin, catching slickness before he draws it back to his mouth. Cas' eyes widen as he watches, and the kiss he presses to Dean's lips can't wait for him to stop sucking his thumb. Cas groans as Dean runs his tongue over the briny flecks on the curve of Cas' mouth. It's messy, insistent, perfect; just like Cas.

 

Dean pulls back and lets his head bounce against the bed, laughing as Cas chases him down and licks a stripe up his cheek. It's a playful thing to do, but Cas does it so very seriously that Dean just can't help himself.

 

“I fucking love you.”

 

Dean stops, his eyes helplessly drawn to the sole remaining streak of come on Cas' face, because of course Dean has royally fucked this up and picked the “bodily fluids on faces” portion of the evening to say the L-word.

 

It wasn't supposed to be like this – there were supposed to be flowers and a nice dinner at one of those restaurants with the stained-glass shades that his dad had always said they couldn't afford. He'd thought about it a million times, with a million different grand gestures to tell Cas how special he is. Cas deserved a sunset on a beach or a bridge with moonlight or something, anything better than some shitty motel bed with a face-full of his own jizz. Cas' quizzical, unblinking stare isn't helping anything.

 

“Fuck, Cas, I … look, I'm sorry.” Dean inches back and leans up on his elbow, craning his neck back when Cas doesn't move.

 

“Do you love Sam as well?”

 

Dean's mouth does a great impression of a screen door in hurricane, opening and slamming closed hard enough to make his lips audibly pop.

 

“Excuse me?” Dean croaks. He'd be relieved at the abrupt 180 in this conversation if he weren't so confused.

 

Cas draws his eyebrows together with the intensity he usually reserves for the higher-order mysteries of the universe, like vending machines and that blow-up dancing figurine that they'd passed in front of a car dealership in Alpharetta. He glances up at Dean before rolling up to sit.

 

“I know that there are things that I don't always understand, Dean.” Cas wrings his hands together in an uncommon gesture of worry. “But I saw you with Sam the other day, and now you tell me something that I infer is of huge importance to you, and I'm confused as to how-”

 

“You saw what with who now?” Dean cuts him off, his turn to make the confused face.

 

“You and Sam. In the restaurant. I saw you being intimate and I thought that-”

 

“OK, back it up, blue eyes.” Dean squeezes his eyes shut and sighs. “Are you talking about the other day when you flipped your feathers and zapped out on the waffles with no warning?”

 

Cas nods, his brow still drawn together. “You were _holding hands_ , Dean.” He says it with the same hushed disapprobation that Sam had laid on him after he'd walked in on Dean playing catch for the Doublemint twins. “They were _fucking you in the ass,_ Dean.” One of these days he was going to pit them against each other in a whisper-voiced judge-off.

 

“OK, first of all, that was a very manly and fraternal pat on the hand, thank you, and...?” Dean trails off, his eyebrows shooting up in confusion.

 

“Dean, I never asked to be the only person you have sexual relations with, but I don't appreciate you saying things you can't possibly mean.” Cas looks down at the bed, a stray hangnail worried between his teeth in a gesture he'd picked up from Dean.

 

Dean is still coming down from multiple orgasms and the dizzying relief of “I love you” out in the open, so he's a little slow on the uptake. Two seconds drag by as Dean wonders what the everloving fuck Cas is talking about before it dawns on him like a ray of horrific, cooties-laden sunshine.

 

“Wait, no, oh, Cas, no, no, nonono!” Dean's arms jerk up in front of him as he bats the air like an angry T-rex. “You think Sam and I, Sam and me and gross, gross, oh my God gross, Cas!” Dean puckers his mouth, the gross so intense he can actually taste it.

 

“Cas.” Dean takes a deep breath and blows it out as he pinches the bridge of his nose. “Sam and I are not, nor have we ever, ever, ever, had sbluuhhh-” Dean sticks his tongue out and shakes his head. “Been intimate. He's my _brother_.”

 

Cas' mouth opens and closes a few times, his eyes stuck somewhere between “lost puppy” and “deciphering ancient language”. Dean scoots a little closer and rests his palm over one of Cas' crossed knees.

 

“Cas, look, I haven't even looked twice at anyone else since we, you know, started, um, seeing each other.” Sam has definitely infected him with some girl-itis. Seeing each other, Jesus. “I don't want to fuck anyone else.” More like it.

 

Cas narrows his eyes. “Then you will stop caressing your brother?”

 

Dean can almost feel his eyes cross with the effort of not bursting out laughing. “Cas, I can physically touch other people without it being, like, a sex thing. You know this, right?”

 

Cas' eyes narrow further. “You are so strange sometimes.” Dean can recognize the plural “you” in that. He takes a deep breath and puts on a placating smile.

 

“Cas, you have nothing to be jealous about. If I pat Sam on the hand or give Bobby a hug, it's totally different than when we do it. Like, when we hug and stuff, obviously it's different than when we do it, like, sex, you know?” Dean cringes at his own eloquence and gives Cas a firm squeeze on the knee, hoping that can put an end to it.

 

“I don't think I do, no. Dean, when I'm with you, just the touch of your hand or the way you look at me, it … it burns inside me like fire, like my skin is alight and my ears hum with how much I...” Cas blinks once, slowly. “I love you.”

 

Kissing has never failed them, and now is no exception. Cas makes a muffled noise of surprise as Dean pulls him close, knocking their knees together as he basically crawls into Cas' lap.

 

“Cas, that's the thing,” Dean stops kissing him just long enough to get the words out. “That's, fuck, that's being in love, Cas. You don't feel like that when you hug some jackass on the street, that's just,” Dean sighs, shaking his head as Cas looks up at him. “That's just for us.”

 

Cas stills as he ponders that for a moment, and his face hasn't been this intense since they spent a laborious evening programming his cell phone. “I see.” He nods, his mouth quirking up in a small smile. “Then I suppose it's alright that Sam is opening the door.”

 

The whole “boxers magically reappearing” thing will never not be weird to Dean. He shifts on the bed as he hears Sam heavy-foot his way in, chanting a chorus of “please have your clothes on, please have your clothes on, please-”

 

Sam stops in surprise as he sees Cas standing in front of him, fully dressed and smiling up at him. Cas grabs Sam's hand and shakes it forcefully. “Good evening, Sam.” He pulls his hand back and stares at it for a second before smiling at Dean with the smile Dean will never, ever admit to calling his “little nerd angel face.” Dean should pretty much just break out the Lisa Frank stationery and start doodling hearts around Cas' name at this point. Dean winks at him, waggling his fingers goodbye.

 

“Well that was-” Sam blinks at the rush of air as Cas disappears, shaking his head and wrinkling his nose.

 

“Jesus Christ, Dean, Febreeze or something for fuck's sake!” Sam makes a big show of flapping his giant lady-monster arms in front of him as he stalks over to the window. “It smells like a used – you know what, I'm not even going to say what it smells like in here because it makes me want to barf.” Sam throws open the window, letting in a stream of air that blows the curtains back and probably stirs up more dust than anything. “In my mouth. Thanks for that.”

 

Dean just leans back and smiles as Sam dusts his hands off, wiping them on his jeans before he looks over at his brother. Sam stops and tilts his head, raising one eyebrow.

 

“You ok?”

 

Dean tucks his hands behind his head and sighs. He does love Sam, a lot, bitch face and all. Dean's got a lot of love and it's more than he can say for most of the poor assholes wandering around in the world.

 

“I'm good, Sammy.” Dean beams at him, stretching his legs out. “Let's get some sleep.”


End file.
